


Like Pumpkins At Midnight

by fishfingersandjellybabies



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 05:22:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8388868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishfingersandjellybabies/pseuds/fishfingersandjellybabies
Summary: At least they got this much. They had to remember that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my only contribution to Halloween this year. If you want this to be connected to _Where You Go, I Follow_ , you can, but it’s not really intended to be such. I always wanted a comic about Dick and Damian being ghosties together and having the best time. This is like 5-10 years after respective deaths. I dunno.

It would a surprise to anyone who asked, what the family’s favorite holiday was.

It wasn’t Christmas, or Fourth of July. Not even Father’s or Valentine’s Day.

It was Halloween.

Halloween, and the Day of the Dead celebrations the two days after.

And it was common knowledge, that Bruce wasn’t into the magic and mystic. Avoided it and scoffed at it at the best of times. But there was something about those three days. Something different.

Something _joyous_.

And everyone felt it.

Perhaps it was the feeling of not being alone. That someone was watching. Perhaps it was the unexplained noises. The opening doors, the light footsteps. The laughter – a man’s and a boy’s – that echoed the halls and was whispered in their ears.

It became an event, over the years, for the whole family. Everyone returned to the manor for Halloween. Had a big family meal, the table set with those two extra seats that would forever remain empty, at least physically. Would create treats, carve pumpkins. Have a whole big party. End the night with movies and hot cider. With candles and fond memories.

A few tears would be shed, every time, without fail. Because even though time healed, time didn’t _fix_ , and they each had holes in their hearts that could never be stitched closed.

But the ghosts knew that. Knew and would soothe accordingly. A touch against their hair, a brush against a tear-tracked cheek. One year, Jason broke down completely, and before anyone got to him, he felt two tiny arms wrap around his neck, and hold him tightly.

_It’s okay, Todd. We’re here. We’re here._

They never did séances, or pulled out a Ouija board. Never felt the need to, they didn’t need anymore proof than what they had.

Suspiciously flickering candles. Lonely pets happy for once. The haunting hum of a tune, and soft words about flying through the air with the greatest of ease.

But only for those three days. From midnight October 31, to 11:59pm November 2.

And the goodbyes never got any easier.

This year, it was just Bruce, in the cave. There was a major robbery at a bank downtown, and the family had to cut their spooky celebration a few hours short. Bruce was still recovering from a recent injury, and forced to remain back by his daughter.

He was typing away, searching security footage and running DNA. Anything to help his children, anything to make sure they came home safe.

He heard the giggle first. Light and airy and young. Happy and content, and Bruce was disappointed he’d never heard – or caused – it in life, though pleased it’d been found now.

Then he heard the movement behind him, and a playful bark from Titus. And before he could turn around, felt his chair shift, and a small kiss pressed against his cheek.

Another giggle from the little voice, as he felt another kiss pressed to the other side of his face.

_See you next year, Bruce._

Bruce smiled and touched his cheek as he finally spun his chair around. The cave was empty, like he expected it to be, but he didn’t miss the small movement of Damian’s cape in its trophy case.

He chuckled, as the bats above his head swirled.

“See you next year, boys.”

~~

They watched from the rooftop, legs dangling off the sides, as their siblings gathered in the graveyard. Jason already had the blanket spread out, while Cassandra lit a few candles, and Steph and Tim helped Barbara with the cider.

“…We should go down there.” Damian hummed thoughtfully, watching as Steph began making shadow puppets for Cass in the moonlight, against the backdrop of Dick’s grave. “We _could_ go down there.”

“We’re already breaking the rules.” Dick sighed mournfully. “We were supposed to go back two hours ago.”

“We’re not breaking _any_ rules.” Damian countered. “We stopped interacting with them at midnight, like the rules state. Even if we go down there, they wouldn’t feel or see or hear _anything_ we did.”

“Exactly.” Dick tried. “So there’d be no point.”

Damian pursed his lips. “…I miss them.”

“Me too, kiddo.” Dick agreed, flopping an arm around Damian’s shoulder and pulling him into his side. “But going down there now, it’ll just hurt _worse_.”

“For who?”

Dick mulled his answer, watched as Jason laughed, and looked over at Damian’s tombstone.

But it wasn’t him who answered. “For everyone.”

Despite being dead, old habits die hard, and Dick still tightened his grip on Damian’s shoulder before turning around to face the newcomer.

Or, newcomers.

He blinked, and grinned immediately. “…Mom. Dad.”

Mary was grinning, and John was shaking his head as he crossed his arms.

“Richard John Grayson.” Mary scolded. “What have I told you about influencing your baby brother?”

Dick gaped playfully, and leaned back against his father’s legs when he approached. “In my defense, it was _his_ idea to stick around this year.”

“That’s what you said last year, son.” John smiled, ruffling Dick’s hair. “And the year before. And the year _before_.”

Mary crouched next to Damian, and he smirked. “He is the _worst_ influence, Ms. Mary.”

Mary nodded in agreement.

Dick sighed, kicking his legs. “I hate this part of it.”

“We all do.” Mary promised. “You never get used to it.”

“Just take comfort that we get this much.” John hummed. Carefully, he leaned down and pat Dick’s shoulder. “Now, come. Martha and Thomas are waiting. And you know they _hate_ waiting for their Halloween stories.”

“I have a funny one of Father this year.” Damian replied, as Mary moved to help him to his feet. “While they were carving their pumpkins, Drake flicked a pumpkin seed into his hair, and he never noticed.”

“Your poor dad.” Mary chuckled, as John also helped Dick up. As soon as both boys were up, Dick held his hand out, and Damian took it immediately. “Getting ganged up on all the time.”

“He loves it.” Dick laughed, even as his parents walked back across the roof, from where they came. Dick and Damian still hesitated a moment, staring down at the graveyard. Watched, now, as Bruce himself joined his family, walking slowly across the yard with Titus. Barbara handed him a readied mug of cider, and quietly, they all held up their cups in toast.

“To Dick and Damian.” Steph called. Everyone echoed.

Damian exhaled, leaning into Dick’s side. “…I can’t wait for next year, Grayson.”

Dick smiled, nodded as he turned Damian away, and followed after his parents. “Me neither, Damian.”


End file.
